


I'll Be Yours

by LoveLikeWinter1



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hawke is Bad at Feelings, Oral Sex, Purple Hawke, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveLikeWinter1/pseuds/LoveLikeWinter1
Summary: Hawke has taken a fancy to Anders, and she isn't shy about it. Quite the opposite, actually, much to the mage's dismay. And she is determined to have it her way, even if it means teasing him to the death.Basically, a small series of ficlets on Hawke being flirty and Anders dealing badly with it. Set during Marian's first three years in Kirkwall.





	1. Storytellers - Year 1

The Hanged Man may not be the best tavern in Kirkwall, or the cleanest, but its somewhat shoddy interior has a familiar air to it, and the fire is always crackling in the huge fireplace. Hawke has been begging him to come have a night out with everyone else for weeks, so tonight he decided to pay them a visit, despite Justice’s warnings. Lately, Marian’s behavior towards him had become most... unsettling. She’d always been rather friendly towards him, but the warm smiles and fond looks had quickly turned into all-out flirting. He turned her down, of course, but she didn’t really listen to his warnings, dismissing them with a flick of her wrist. Still, it didn’t feel right to just shut her out. He hasn’t had any friends for a very long time, and the newfound company is certainly welcome. He isn't ready to give that up just yet.

He enters the pub and already Isabela is enthusiastically waving at him from one of the tables; Hawke is sitting next to Varric as the dwarf scribbles on a piece of parchment. Marian is laughing almost to tears, and they all look like they’ve had one too many drinks already. Anders smiles at the sight, sitting himself down next to Isabela.

“So, you’ve finally decided this place isn’t too seedy for your taste?” The rogue teases as she pushes a pint of ale towards him.

“You _do_ know I live in Darktown, right?” He smiles. “This place is a palace in comparison.”

Their conversation is interrupted when Varric and Hawke erupt in a roar of laughter.

“What are you two doing?” Anders asks suspiciously. He cranes his neck to peek at the parchment, which Varric holds up defensively.

“Oh, Hawke is just helping me work on my next novel.” Varric giggles.

“What is it about?” The mage retorts, although he isn’t sure he wants to know.

“’Tis an epic tale of steamy romance. The kind that would make an Antivan whore blush.” Varric announces proudly. Anders shakes his head, leaving them to their parchment and engaging in conversation with Isabela instead.

“Oh, write about how big my breasts are!!” Hawke suddenly shouts at Varric, and Anders almost chokes on his ale. “Like, real, real huge!”

“They’re not.” The dwarf retorts, furrowing his brow.

“It’s _fiction_ , ain’t it?” Hawke slurs. “You’re _supposed_ to exaggerate things, Varric. It makes the story more interesting.”

“Alright.” Varric crosses out a few lines and writes over them as Hawke smiles and nods happily.

“Also make sure you mention how pretty and lady-like I am.” Hawke adds before a rather unladylike belch escapes her lips.

“What in the name of the Maker are you writing about?” Anders shakes his head in disbelief as his two companions smile at him drunkenly.

“Alright, time to see for ourselves.” Isabela cuts in. Her hands darts towards the manuscript; Hawke and Varric both jump forwards to stop her from grabbing it, but the rogue is faster.

“Darktown’s darkest corners.” She announces mischievously as her amber eyes peruse the parchment. “Well, the title is rather promising.”

Varric and Hawke are in a slight panic now, and both try to reach out to snatch the parchments from Isabela’s hands, but they are drunk and all they manage to do is flail around helplessly.

“ _That night, the most beautiful woman turned up on his clinic’s doorstep.”_ Isabela read out loud. There was more coughing as Anders chokes on his drink for the second time.

“Maker, no…” He pleads, but Isabela keeps on reading.

“ _Marian was an exquisite girl with a very large bosom. Much to his surprise, she was wearing nothing but smallclothes. She swooned and he barely managed to catch her in his arms..._ What’s with the blabber, dwarf?” Isabela suddenly complains. “Where’s the smut at?”

She shuffles the pages around, until finally she finds what she was looking for.

“Aha!” She exclaims, resuming her reading. “ _They kissed passionately as she half ripped his clothes off, his hands gently caressing her as she…”_ Isabela’s voice trails off as she reads, and she soon falls entirely silent, save for the scandalised noises here and there. Merrill and Aveline are now standing behind the pirate and reading behind her shoulder; the elf looks terrified, while the redhead’s cheeks almost match her hair in colour. Anders is reading too, leaning against Isabela, and he is so pale he almost looks ill.

“Varric, this is genius.” Isabela finally announces, a breathy laugh escaping her lips. “The writing is terrible, but I’ll blame the ale for that. You’ve made _me_ blush, and that’s saying a lot!”

“I… Cannot unread that.” Anders complains with a moan.

“What can I say Blondie?” Varric grins. “Hawke’s got the most vivid imagination when it comes to you. I may as well market it. I guess I could give you a share of the profits, say... a tenth?”

“This... _obscenity_ …” Anders stresses the word as he snatches the parchments from Isabela’s hands. “Won’t leave this place.”

He smiles apologetically at Hawke and Varric before turning his palm up, creating a small flame that he aims at the small pile of pages. They ignite immediately, despite his companions’ lamentations, and a few seconds later Hawke, Varric and Isabela are staring regretfully at the small pile of ashes.

“That could have been my best seller. ” Varric laments, slurring, as he pulls Hawke towards the bar. "I need a drink.”


	2. The Blooming Rose - Year 2

“Remind me what we’re doing here again?” Anders complains as Hawke strides confidently into the Blooming Rose.

“I’ve never seen one of those before!” Marian replies excitedly. “Besides, I thought it would be fun.”

“The women here sure don’t like to wear much clothing.” Merrill comments innocently as they reach the main room. A bunch of serving girls clad in rather provocative outfits bustles around, serving copious amounts of ale to their guests and entertaining them with suggestive dances.

“I don’t think Isabela would like me being here.” The elf adds in anguish.

“And that is _precisely_ why Isabela isn’t here.” Hawke replies as her eyes peruse the room excitedly.

“Well, I can’t say I am happy to be here.” Anders mumbles. “If someone tries to hire me again, I’m leaving.”

Hawke freezes at the sound of that, turning around to face the mage, her mouth wide open, and Anders immediately regrets what he said.

“Someone… tried to… you?” Suddenly she is in stitches, and soon enough she’s laughing to tears, barely able to breathe. All heads turn towards her in annoyance, and Varric starts gently but firmly pushing her towards the exit.

 

“Oh, this is too good!” She manages to say once they are outside the Rose. “Who was it? Was it a man? I bet it was a man.”

“Why does it matter?” Anders mutters in annoyance, cheeks flushed red from embarrassment.

“Hey Varric.” Hawke calls, ignoring the mage’s complaints. “What do you reckon his whore name would be?”

Varric guffaws.

“ _The exotic wonder from the Anderfels_?”

“ _The mysterious enchanter_?” Hawke replies giggling.

“Don’t encourage her.” Anders admonishes, but the dwarf ignores him.

“ _Sparklefingers_?” Varric continues. “Isabela mentioned that… certain electricity trick of his.”

“Oooh, that’s good!”

“Please, stop talking.” Anders moans, his cheeks now an even deeper shade of red.

“Well, whoever it was, I don’t blame them.” Hawke states. She turns to face Anders, smiling playfully at the mage. “I would pay good coin for you.”

Varric roars with laughter, throwing his head back, and even Merrill is smiling. Anders scowls, looking rather distressed.

“I told you not to go there.” He hisses, breaking the general joyous mood.

“Ah, lighten up Blondie.” Varric admonishes. “Andraste’s tits, even I can tell you’re good-looking. At least you can let yourself enjoy the ladies’ attention. It’s only words: I’m sure Creepy doesn’t mind.”

“You mean I should be flattered?” Anders asks, vaguely annoyed. “Because I am. I just… I only meant that…” He stumbles on his words until Hawke comes to his rescue.

“Yes yes, I know. Spirits, possession, you’ll break my heart, and so on. Relax. It was only a joke.” She bumps her shoulder against his in a friendly manner, before engaging in conversation with Merrill.

She is turning her back to him now, and his eyes linger on her frame. She is taller, and curvier, than the elf, and he finds himself drawn to the way her muscular torso tapers at her thin waist before giving way to her generous hips and thighs. Heat quickly rises to his cheeks as rather indecent thoughts flood his mind. Somewhere deep inside him, Justice laments his vessel’s sinful needs, complaining until Anders finally averts his gaze.

“You know, Blondie.” Varric starts as he catches up to the mage. “You want Hawke to leave you alone, you ought to quit staring like that. Kind of sending mixed signals there.”

“I wasn’t staring!” Anders protests, keeping his eyes fixed on his shoes to prove his point.

“Sure thing, Blondie.” Varric grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I died a little when, while casually looting the Blooming Rose, Anders said someone tried to hire him. It was simply hilarious, but I wished Hawke or the others had replied to it. So, of course, it inspired me to write about just that. Marian would be more than happy to spend her precious coin on this one :3


	3. Scars - Year 3

 

It had been a quiet night at the clinic, with no emergencies to speak of. Varric hadn’t shown up to listen to his stories, and Isabela hadn’t come to humiliate him at cards. This newfound loneliness felt strange, but he couldn’t deny it was welcome, after the rather tumultuous few months they had.

 _This will not last long,_  Justice reminded him, and Anders knew the spirit was scolding him for not taking the opportunity to work on his manifesto, or to find the best way to piss off Knight-Commander Meredith. But Anders was tired, and he reminded Justice that a quiet night in might do him good, for once.

 _Mortals…_ Justice echoed, sending a wave of disappointment rushing through Anders’ mind. Still he must have somewhat agreed, for he elected to let him be.

The water for his tea was bubbling when loud knocking noises reverberated through the building. He startled, accidentally hitting the kettle and watching in dismay as all the water poured out of it. If those were Templars on the other side of the door, he would find even more enjoyment than usual in killing them for spoiling his tea.

“Damn it, Anders!” Isabela’s rowdy voice called out. “You gonna wait until I unhinge the blighted door?”

There were other voices, too, although they were quieter. He vaguely recognized Varric’s hushed tones, as well as Aveline’s commanding voice as she tried to silence the loud seafarer.

 _I told you so._ Justice commented.

“Didn’t know spirits could be so smug.” Anders muttered, slowly making for the door.

 

The scene he was presented with could have been comical, if Hawke hadn’t been doused in blood rushing from a knife wound on her left side. Isabela and Aveline each had one arm around her, holding her up. They all looked rather intoxicated, especially Marian. Despite her injury, she was giggling uncontrollably, her head lolling back as she leaned heavily on her companions.

“What in the Maker’s name…”

“A-Adnersss, look….” Hawke slurred, unabashedly grabbing Isabela’s right breast, much to the pirate’s delight. “They are huuuuuuuuuge.” She commented, before starting giggling again. Anders raised his eyebrows, pressing for an explanation.

“The guard was supposed to deal with some stupid thug gang in Lowtown.” Aveline cut in, muttering a curse as Hawke, who was now in stitches, went limp and almost fell to the ground. She forcefully yanked on Hawke’s arm to force her into an upright position. 

“So Aveline thought she’d bring us along for support.” Varric continued. “We said we’d come if she agreed to have a drink with us at the Hanged Man and… Well, the rest is history.”

“So you went off fighting while drunk as lords?” Anders rolled his eyes as Varric slowly nodded, looking rather proud.

“We kicked their asses, too.” The dwarf continued. “Except Trouble here got a little… carried away.”

“I… Have no words.” He shook his head slowly, stepping aside to let his companions in. “Put her down somewhere and I’ll have a look at that wound.”

“She’ll live, right?” Varric enquired as Isabela and Aveline carefully lowered Hawke onto one of the cots lying around the clinic.

“Most likely.” Anders reassured him. “You can go. Take Isabela, too. Can’t have Hawke so… distracted.” He gestured towards Hawke, who was now expertly weighing Isabela’s assets in her hands, as one would melons at the market. “I need her to stay still if I’m going to heal her.”

“Alright Rivaini, you’ve had enough fun.” Varric commented as he grabbed onto Isabela’s hand, leading her away from Hawke’s cot despite Marian’s vehement protests.

“Spoil sport!” She shouted at Varric.

“See ya, Trouble. Try not to die.”

 

He turned to Hawke as the door closed behind the others. She had managed to sit up on the bed, and was now slowly rocking back and forth, an idiotic smile on her lips. 

“Let me have a look.”

Hawke obediently rolled her tunic up, swaying dangerously as she did so. The wound was deep enough, but not worrying. Despite his best efforts, Anders’ eyes wandered along her soft curves. Her skin was pale and soft, littered with scars, old and new. He scowled at the sight.

“How come you’re always covered in injuries?” He commented lightly, although there was a hint of regret in his voice.

Hawke let out a brief, breathy laugh, quite unabashed by his shameless staring.

“I got most of them before I had a healer constantly watching my back.” She half-slurred while laying back on the bed, her slender fingers tracing a short, thick scar under her collarbone.

“Got this one when fleeing Ferelden. A Hurlock did it. Or was it a Genlock? I always get those mixed up. Why do we give them names anyway?”

She laughed again, and Anders decided that even her drunken laugh was lovely. Her hand moved to a longer scar running from underneath her navel to her hip. Her finger moved more slowly this time, almost languidly, tracing the delicate pattern, following the shape of the taut muscles underneath. Her skin must be soft, he thought, soft and warm and… His heart pounded almost painfully in his chest, a tingly sensation spreading through his belly, and lower. Way, way too low. He was barely aware of Hawke’s lips moving, but whatever she was talking about had been long forgotten. It took Justice’s repeated nudging against his consciousness to bring him back to his senses.

“Carver did this.” She continued, breathily, reaching for another scar above her belly button. “We were sparring and got a little carried away. Beth healed me afterwards, but she wasn’t very good at it back then.” Her finger delineated the scar’s outline, all the way up to where the scar disappeared under her bra strap. He followed her hand hungrily, eagerly, almost wishing she would pull up what little fabric was covering her breasts, but she stopped in her track, abruptly. His breath hitched.

“You alright?” She asked. Her voice was too quirky, her eyes too mischievous for her actions to have been innocent. He, however, was determined on not giving up so easily.

“I… I’m going to start on that wound.” His throat was stupidly dry, and he cursed his thrice-damned body for getting so heated up over so little.

“As you wish.” Hawke mused, looking rather proud of herself.

He quickly found that his focus was way off, so much he resorted to silently pleading for Justice to assist him. The spirit was recalcitrant at first, but Anders somehow coaxed him into helping him focus his magic. A faint blue energy flowed from his palms, and he slowly directed it towards Hawke’s wound. She moaned quietly at the soothing touch, her back arching ever so slightly, and the sight of her was enough to elicit another heated wave rushing through his body.

“That feels good.” She purred, her voice low and soft.

He tensed at the sound, his feverish mind rushing, cravingly taking in the sight of her lips, her breasts, her hips. He felt his resolve weaken, and without Justice’s help he would have lost all focus. This needed to end. Soon. She winced as he promptly forced her skin to knit, the sudden painful sensation making her gasp. Her hand darted, clutching at his leg as she bit back a whimper.

“Hawke.” He breathed, his magic wavering under her touch, his mind racing, but luckily she was too caught up in her pain to hear him.

He inhaled deeply, trying desperately to focus on his magic rather than Hawke’s firm grip on his thigh. It took him longer than usual to close the wound. Hawke’s fingers relaxed as the flow of magic ended.

“That hurt.” Marian complained.

“I could have done a better job if you weren’t being so… distracting.”

“I was?” She smiled devilishly, her hand weighing on his upper leg as she moved her fingers to slowly caress the sensitive area.

“Marian!” He gasped, springing to his feet. Hawke looked crossed.

“Three years, Anders. It’s been three years. I need to know. Am I wasting my time?”

“Hawke…” He started, but she cut him short, emboldened by the liquor.

“Is it because of Bethany?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Beth. _Everyone_ loves Beth. She was always the pretty one. The good one.”

She sullenly crossed her arms on her chest, pouting.

“What? No.” He shook his head to emphasize his words. “That’s not it. You know why I… I can’t…”

“I can take it.” She interrupted. “Whatever it is you think you must shelter me from. I can take it, Anders. Just give me a chance.”

He hesitated, taken aback. He’s wanted her, achingly, desperately, for three years. His resolve was waning, her bare body eager and inviting. He swallowed, feeling Justice ‘s prodding warningly.

“I can’t.” He finally said, his voice barely a whisper. Hawke muttered something under her breath, hurt and suddenly embarrassed, and promptly got out of the bed. She dressed herself, her movements stiff and clumsy, but at least she’d sobered up enough to stand on her own two feet.

“I’m sorry.” She said as she turned around to face him. “Anders, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to insist, I... I understand.” She smiled, faintly but sincerely.

She had almost reached the door when Anders decided the sight of her walking away was too much to bear.

"Wait."


	4. Ignite

She turned around in surprise, and the sight of him was almost too much to bear. Feverish, slightly disheveled, he looked at her, languidly wetting his lips as he stepped forward. His movements were awkward and insecure, as if he half expected her to run away any minute. She slowly, carefully took hold of Anders’ hands; to her surprise, he let her, and Hawke revelled in the warm touch, gently wrapping her fingers around his.

“I don’t even know how to say this, but…” He began stumbling on his words until a gentle squeeze of Hawke’s fingers emboldened him enough to continue. 

“For three years I have laid awake at night, aching for you.” His voice was low and measured, laden with restrained desire, and the breathiness of it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. Knowing that he wanted her for so long, picturing the way he’d touch himself during those lonely nights, thinking of her, crying out her name as he spent… It was enough to make her gasp, loudly, and for a second Anders grinned, wolfishly and hungrily, as she clutched his hand.

“And I’ll want to know all about that. In detail.” She breathed, eliciting a stifled chuckle from Anders. “But for now, I’d rather hear what’s on your mind.”

“Since Justice, I… I haven’t… done anything. Not with someone else, at least. I don’t know how he’ll react. What he’ll make of this. You could get hurt.”

Marian furrowed her brow. She hadn’t thought about it, not properly at least. If anything she’d tried not to think of Justice, of what he might think of her. Hawke realised she’d hit the point where she would have to start thinking about it. She nodded slowly in understanding. 

“Have you tried… asking him?”

“It’s not that easy. He is a spirit, an ethereal being. He doesn’t understand this part of me… Not truly. I tried to ask, tried to make him understand, but I think the concept it too far from his reality for him to grasp.”

“We don’t have to do anything, Anders.” She smiled at him, a hand gently cupping his face in a bid to reassure him, reassure them both. “Not yet. I’ve waited three years. I can wait a little longer.”

“No.” He growls, and the flash of anger in his eyes is enough for her to flinch slightly, taken aback. “I’ve waited long enough on his account. I won’t have you wait until frustration pushes you away.”

“It won’t. You know how stubborn I am.” She retorted, wrinkling her nose, and Anders almost smiled in disbelief.

“Quit fretting.” She smiled, trying to keep her voice steady despite the inebriating closeness of Anders’ body. He was close enough now for her to catch the scent of him: she recognised the sweet smell of elfroot, mixed in with a subtle but distinctive odor that she couldn’t quite place. Pleasant and wild, earthy and crisp as still winter air. Lyrium, Hawke guessed. There was something else too, a faint scent of ash and smoke, a product of his fondness for lightning spells. She smiled fondly, recollecting all the times Anders would laugh and hoot after disintegrating an enemy through a well-aimed lighting strike. Hungry for more, she buried her face into Anders’ neck, breathing deeply against him until he shuddered and tiny prickles dotted the pale exposed skin. She revelled in the sight, fighting the burning impulse to bite and suck at the sensitive skin until he was whimpering under her, ignoring the sweet ache forming between her legs at the mere thought.

“If I do anything he doesn’t like, will he let me know?” She asked, gently kissing the tip of his shoulder.

“I - I don’t know. I can’t be sure. I think he’d tell me, at least.”

“Then we take it slow.” Hawke decided. “And we only go as far as you’re both comfortable with.”

Anders seemed to consider her words, and for a moment Hawke was afraid he would turn her down again. But he finally nodded, slowly, as he reached for the back of her neck, pulling her in close. He brushed his lips against hers, tentatively at first, then crashed them together with a quiet moan. She whimpered in response as he tenderly sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, each graze of his teeth sending shivers down her spine. She eagerly deepened the kiss, tongue swirling against his as they both breathed raggedly against each other

“I know this… isn’t ideal.” He rasped as he pulled back grudgingly, his amber eyes meeting her gaze. “I cannot give you everything you deserve. But if you want this… _Truly_ want this…”

“Maker, yes.” She breathed softly, slowly walking backwards until she felt the cot pressing against the back of her knees. 

Hawke sat herself on the mattress, slinging her legs around to kneel before him. Her nimble fingers started undoing the laces of his linen shirt, ever so slowly. She kept her gaze fixed into his, searching for a sign of Justice’s disapproval, almost expecting to see the familiar blue light flash across Anders’ face. When nothing happened, she allowed herself to relax slightly, gently pulling the garment over his head and letting it fall unceremoniously to the ground. She avidly reached for him, gently caressing every exposed inch of skin, grinning when a light brush of her fingernails on his stomach elicited a quiet moan.

Hawke was careful to watch his reactions closely, silently asking for permission every time her hands wandered lower. Anders was breathing loudly now, his swollen lips slightly parted as his body twitched deliciously every time she reached a particularly sensitive spot. Justice was there, Hawke knew, but had remained silent so far. Marian wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. Still, she intended for this to be a pleasant experience for Anders, and she decided not to voice her concerns just yet. Instead, she hugged his hips, pulling him in closer, allowing her lips to kiss the soft skin of his chest. When there was no complaint, she took it a step further, nibbling and sucking on the skin beneath his collarbones until it reddened under her ministrations. Anders moaned, a deep, primal rumble that caused her hips to twitch and buck, her core desperately aching for friction. Hawke stifled a whimper, biting hard at her lower lip to create a distraction from her pulsing arousal. She reminded herself of the spirit trapped within, calming the urgency of her movements. Once she had, Marian pulled gently on the waist of Anders' trousers until he was sat on the cot, facing her, gazing at her lips with half-lidded eyes.

”Say it.” Anders croaked breathlessly. Hawke straddled his hips and watched hungrily as his eyes rolled back, his back arching softly as he stuttered. ”If- If I’m going to… I need to know.”

“I want this.” She purred, hands tightening around his shoulders. “I want you.”


	5. Strife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, all of the smut was supposed to be contained in one chapter, but clearly I got carried away. Damn it, Anders.  
> The next chapter will be through Marian's POV and will, Maker willing, be the last.
> 
> Also, Justice is such a cockblocker :3

 Passion ignited between them as they kissed again, and Anders let himself get lost in the moment as Marian writhed impatiently against him. Hawke’s lips sucked avidly on his, her teeth scraping painfully against the sensitive skin a he reciprocated the kiss. Marian wasn’t being gentle anymore, her urgent movements rendered clumsy by her fervor, but the pain was sweet and Hawke’s eagerness left him hungry for more. Her hands were curled into his hair, holding him firmly into place, and every so often she would tug sharply, forcing him to tilt his head back as she deepened the kiss. He obliged, moaning eagerly into her mouth, revelling in the taste of her, hints of salt, blood and the honeyed wine she’d been downing back at the Hanged Man.

 She pulled back, flushed and breathless, as her avid hands fumbled with the fastening of his breeches. His breath hitched as she pulled the rest of his clothes down in a single swift motion. Marian leaned back with a grin, taking in the sight of him; the pure lust in her eyes was enough to make his cock throb achingly with desire, but Hawke still refrained from touching him.

 “Sit.” Marian growled in the commanding tone she usually reserved to those stupid enough to piss her off. He felt a fluttering in his chest as Justice stirred, a wave of discontent rushing through his body. Anders guessed the spirit didn’t quite appreciate the imperative, but Marian was now grinning devilishly at him and Justice’s tenuous warning was soon forgotten entirely. He obeyed, carefully laying down besides her on the narrow mattress, watching as Hawke’s nimble fingers worked on undoing the laces of her own tunic.

 “You’ve thought about this before. Us.” Hawke groaned sultrily, her dark eyes fixed onto his.

 “Yes.” He admitted, fire pooling low in his belly as Marian freed her breasts from the fabric strap. She hastily got rid of her leather trousers and the smallclothes underneath, until she stood perfectly naked in front of him. Anders found himself at a loss for words, unable to do much more than staring at her with avid eyes, gazing in turn at her firm, round breasts, her soft hips, her sex. Marian smiled, and he stifled a whimper as her hands ran up his thighs, causing the muscles underneath to twitch in anticipation as the soft pads of her fingertips kneaded softly. Maker, her touch felt even better than he ever imagined. She sat herself onto her knees, her hands now forcing his legs apart until they rested on either side of her.

 “Did you touch yourself?"

 “Yes.” He admitted once more, feeling his cheeks flush heatedly. His voice was hoarse and barely audible, yet Marian grinned as she reached a hand to her breast, cupping the soft flesh.

 “Show me.” Marian purred, letting out a soft moan as her hand now worked on her nipple, teasing and caressing the pink nub until it hardened under her touch. Anders growled as a curse escaped his lips; he eagerly wrapped his fingers around his aching erection: a single, slow stroke that left him gasping for air. Hawke grinned, visibly satisfied, as her free hand roamed over her belly, and lower.

“How did you picture it?” She continued, shuddering as her hand brushed lightly against her sex. “Fucking me, that is.”

He raised his eyebrows, his mouth wide as he feigned a scandalised expression, and Hawke chuckled softly, smirking above him. He quickened the strokes of his hand and Hawke mirrored him, her fingers caressing her swollen lips more vigorously, each brush eliciting a quiet moan.

“Several ways.” He breathed, struggling to keep his voice steady, his eyes glued onto Hawke’s sinewy body as she began rolling her hips rhythmically against her fingers. “Most of them did involving having you under me, however.”

 “Yeah?” Hawke asked, breathing raggedly.

 “Yeah.” He rasped. “Touching you, not –ah-, fucking you. Teasing until you scream. Until – until all you can do is – is beg for more.”

 Hawke keened, a loud sound that shot straight to his cock, sending waves of pure lust crashing onto him.

 “You paint a pretty picture.” Marian muttered, her voice teeming with searing desire as she reluctantly drove her hand away from her sex, wiping her slick fingers on his thigh.

 Without warning, she forced his hand away from his erection and sank her head down between his thighs, taking his whole length into her hot mouth. He cried out, his whole body jolting frantically under her as the whirlwind of sensations left him gasping for air.

 “Fuck, Marian, fuck, don’t, I –ah-, I…”

 Hawke groaned in response but refused to heed him. She tilted her head back, freeing him for a split second, before letting her mouth sink onto him again, her lips pressed tightly around his throbbing cock. Anders bit back a moan, quickly losing himself to Hawke’s rhythmical ministrations until his hips started moving on their own accord, thrusting hard into her mouth. Marian grunted, sucking and teasing in turn, slowing down every now and again to playfully swirl her tongue in hot circles round the tip of his cock and down his length, sending shivers of pleasure down Anders’ spine. She took him in again, and his whole body jerked; he was close, way too close, and he didn’t intend for it to finish quite yet.

 “Stop.” He managed to say between clenched teeth, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his breath.

 Hawke gave one last, playful lick, before raising her head back up.

 “Not enjoying yourself, Anders?” She grinned, fingers splayed across his leg, holding it up as she trailed kissed on the bare skin of his thigh.

 “Oh, I most certainly am, _serah_.” He mused, and Marian chuckled. “But I am far from done with you.”

 “Oh?”  Hawke replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief as he sat up, crashing their lips together once more. His arousal made him bolder, and this time they both fought for control as their tongues swirled avidly around each other.  He leaned against her, shifting his weight to get her underneath him. Marian fought, her body agile and nimble, but he was stronger and she soon relinquished control, falling flat on her back. Hawke groaned complainingly into his mouth, biting at his lower lip hard, until he tasted the metallic tang of blood.

 

His mind wavered, and before he could react Justice flared defensively within him, sending his whole body aglow. Marian flinched under him, unable to free herself from his weight. Yet she did not scream or try to wriggle out of his embrace. The incident did sober her up, though, and she raised her hands to show Justice that she meant no harm. Anders could feel the faint hum of the Fade against his skin even as Justice clawed at his consciousness, concerned over what he perceived as an attack on his vessel. Anders growled and Justice pushed harder, bathing the room in a dim azure light.

 He pulled away from Hawke, giving in to Justice’s will, and fought to regain control as the spirit stared harshly at Marian. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let him hurt her, yet Justice wouldn’t be placated, and when he cried out to Hawke his voice echoed with the spirit’s harsh undertones.

 “Ah, shit.” Hawke muttered. “I am sorry, An-… Justice.” She nodded vigorously, biting her lip at the mistake. “Justice, yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I meant no harm.”

 Justice flared as the spirit’s own confused thoughts rushed through Anders’ mind.

 “Marian, I’m sorry.” He stuttered slowly as his mind clouded. “I can’t control him, he’s – Justice is dangerous, you should…”

 Hawke sat up beside him, her eyes laden with concern as she gently wrapped an arm around his shoulder. The gesture was slow and careful, yet the embrace was somewhat comforting. Anders’ vision slowly cleared again as Justice quit clawing at his consciousness.

 “No, it was my fault.” She began tentatively, her gaze flicking in turn from his eyes, to his forehead, to his heart. “Where… where should I look? To, ah, speak to…him.” She inquired and Anders couldn’t help but smile. That she was trying so hard to get onto Justice’s good side was sweet, and not something he had ever experienced before. The spirit within him must have thought so too, for he stilled and quieted, his mind now more curious than afraid.

 “It doesn’t matter, love. He can hear you.”

 “It was my fault.” She reiterated as her eyes settled into his. “I said I would take it slow and, well… I didn’t. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I want this to be on your own terms. Yours, and Anders’, that is.”

 She bit her lip at the end of her tirade, a look of anguish in her eyes, as if unsure she had used the right words.

 “Was that…” Hawke began, stumbling on her words. “Did he hear that? Was that good? It wasn’t, really, was it. Maker, he must hate me.”

 “He doesn’t.” Anders blurted out assuredly as Justice’s mind seeped through his, his approval of Hawke unspoken but present nonetheless. “Not really. Not always. Most of the time he’s rather happy with you, actually.”

 “That’s… good to know. Thank you.”

 Anders smiled and leaned in to kiss her, waiting for a reaction from Justice. When none came, he deepened the kiss, and was thankful to find that her eagerness hadn’t been diminished by Justice’s little display. Marian did, however, put an end to it before it could escalate any further.

 “So, he is fine with this? Justice?” She inquired as her arms wrapped around his comfortingly.

 “Yes. I think so.” Justice had retreated deep within him, and it was enough to sever communications between their minds, but when Anders searched for disapproval once more, he found only hints of acceptance and grudging curiosity.

 Hawke nodded slowly as he took her lips once more. She reciprocated, although this time her tender, almost careful as she kissed his lips and nibbled at his tongue, obediently lying back as he crawled on top of her. Marian’s meekness seemed to bolster Justice: he reached for her, coming closer to the surface yet not attempting to seize control of Anders’ mind.  
Hawke gasped as Anders’ kisses trailed lower, and when his lips found a nipple she let out a loud moan that shook both spirit and host to the core.


	6. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took longer than expected! Sorry about the wait, especially to all the lovely peeps who took the time to comment and leave kudos, and have been left hanging for all this time =3=
> 
> Hopefully this last chapter will still be enjoyable for y'all.

Marian whined helplessly, struggling to still her mind, to suppress the urge to bite and suck and tease until Anders was a moaning mess begging to be fucked senseless. It took most of her self-control to lay on her back instead, letting him and Justice find a pace that felt more comfortable. Anders was still keen, Hawke was pleased to discover, and when he kissed her breast she moaned loudly, a needy, desperate sound that made Anders falter somewhat, each stroke of his tongue and graze of teeth becoming more urgent and less precise every time Marian moaned.

Hawke smiled mischievously, revelling in the way Anders’ hips bucked ever so slightly above her every time he dragged a broken groan out of her. Another careless flick of Anders’ tongue left her shuddering, her back arching to meet with his body, yet the mage retreated promptly, denying himself from her.

“Now you’re just teasing.” Marian complained, and she was surprised to find out just how shaky and weak her voice was. Anders had barely touched her, yet his strokes and gentle caresses left her gasping for air, panting harshly as her whole body ached and strained for more.

“You have been teasing me for three whole years.” Anders mused, his playful amber eyes meeting her gaze. “My turn.”

Marian tutted and would have complained more if Anders’ devilish tongue hadn’t resumed its careful scrutiny. She writhed impatiently as each probing stroke on the stiff peak of her breast sharpened the ache between her legs.

“Lower, mage.” Hawke finally grunted as her hips jerked upwards uncontrollably when Anders sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. His mouth felt warm around her, impossibly so, and Maker be damned, she needed more. “Now.” She growled urgently, hoping her pleas would finally be heeded.

“Mmmmhh.” Was the only reply she got as Anders chuckled lightly, rolling her nipple lightly between his teeth as their gazes met. He was looking at Hawke as if he may devour her, desire clear in his gaze as he eyed her lustily, and for a split second Marian could have sworn she saw an eager flash of blue in his eyes. She startled, yet a moment later it was over, so quickly that Hawke wondered if she had imagined it.

Anders finally heeded her, trailing feather-light kisses down Marian’s toned belly and smiling against her as he reached the softness forming right under her navel. As he did so, a strand of hair fell from where it lay tucked behind his ear, landing onto Hawke’s bare skin, tickling her. Her whole body convulsed as she erupted in a bout of high-pitched giggles, kicking and twisting around under Anders to avoid the ticklish strand. Anders didn’t realise straight away, watching Hawke with a puzzled expression until he noticed the lay strand and promptly tucked it away. Marian felt awkwardly girlish by then, cheeks flushed from embarrassment, too aware of how her mad giggling had somewhat broken the heated mood.

But Anders was grinning widely above her, eyes twinkling with amusement, and it was such a rare sight that Hawke decided it was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

“Sorry.” Marian grinned apologetically.

“What for?” Anders smiled as he playfully nipped at her hip until Hawke’s chuckles turned into soft moans. “Maker, you’re perfect.”

“That something you say to every girl you bed?” Hawke chuckled, groaning loudly as Anders nuzzled the crease between her sex and upper thigh.

“Must have made you very popular,” she continued, her voice dropping to a purr as Anders relentlessly teased the sensitive skin of her upper thigh, biting and sucking and leaving a string of red marks in his wake. “Must have gotten you all the girls you wan - oh, yes. Yes, fuck, _please_.“

Marian gasped loudly, her head snapping back violently as Anders’s tongue unexpectedly flicked over her already swollen clit. She felt her eyes roll back as her eyelids fluttered shut, barely aware of anything that wasn’t the warmth of Anders’ tongue against her dripping cunt. He chuckled against her, growling his approval as Hawke writhed under him. Hawke let herself sink into the mattress with a broken sigh, toes curling into the sheets as Anders lapped her up with practiced ease. His tongue swirled lightly against her clit, circling it, and each of her eager moans was met with an encouraging grunt.

Then Anders’ lips closed against the sensitive nub as he began sucking on it, and Hawke couldn't help crying out in shock and ecstasy. It was almost overwhelming, the way his lips and tongue pressed and sucked at the most sensitive part of her, the wet noises he drew from her slick cunt, and the way Anders moaned against her. Marian was beyond words when Anders promptly slid a finger inside her, and the new sensation elicited a flurry of blasphemous curses that would have made any Chantry sister blush. Anders couldn’t help a snort as he relentlessly pressed upwards against her inner wall and Hawke panted shamelessly under him.

“I – ah, _fuck_ , that’s good – I definitely won’t be allowed in the Maker’s realms after that. Your fault.”

“I didn’t force you to curse the Maker’s name so vehemently, love.” Anders argued as Marian rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’ve got to say… I love the way you scream for me.” Anders hissed, pressing his tongue against her clit once more, and Hawke snapped, intense pleasure building up and coiling inside her: she was so close to the edge, and hearing Anders' hoarse voice only made it worse. She had to bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood to avoid giving in there and then.

“Loud sex is unthinkable in the Circle; not unless you want a Templar knocking down your door and hauling you into the dungeons.” Anders continued, and this time there was a hint of sadness and bitterness in his voice that Marian couldn’t, wouldn’t ignore.

She eagerly grabbed a fistful of Anders’ hair, her fingers tangling in the smooth golden strands as she tilted his head back, forcing him away from her. Marian propped herself up and sat before him, frantically kissing every inch of skin that her lips could reach.

“Fuck the Circle.” She growled menacingly against Anders’ shoulder. “They’re not taking you back. Not ever.” Marian reached for his neck, sucking the sensitive skin into her mouth and stopping only when she’d branded him with a dark red mark that contrasted strikingly with his pale skin. 

She sounded angrier and more desperate than she had anticipated, but she had lived three whole years in fear that they would haul Anders away as they had Bethany, and while Marian knew her submissive sister stood a decent chance among the Circle mages, Anders would certainly be executed for his crimes the very second the Templars found his clinic.

“Never.” Marian was seething. Anders gasped and stared at her with a curious mix of unending trust and desperate want, a gaze that hinted at past suffering and ancient wounds. He wanted to believe her, that much was clear, but Marian doubted he knew just how far she’d go to keep him safe. Still he kissed her with renewed enthusiasm, a bruising clash of teeth and tongue that left them both panting as Anders laid atop her.

“Thank you.” Anders finally said, awkwardly and hesitantly, and his voice sounded like this was the first time anyone had truly cared about him in a long time. Which possibly wasn’t too far from the truth, Marian guessed.

He kissed her again, kindly this time: a heartbeat later he slid inside her effortlessly, slickness coating his cock as he eased into her inch by inch; Marian could feel his hardness throb as he let out a loud, shaky moan, and Maker, he sounded amazing. Anders rolled his hips back until his cock barely rested against her entrance, then promptly entered her again, sheathing himself in fully. Marian grunted impatiently, spreading her thigh further, feeling utterly stretched out on his shaft.

“Never.” Hawke reiterated, grunting hoarsely as Anders thrust into her, his own soft moans mingling with her sharp intakes of breath. “Never, never.” Her voice dropped to a murmur as she writhed against the sheets, rolling her hips to meet each of Anders’ thrusts. “You’re mine, and you – you feel _so_ good and – you’re _mine_.”

Marian locked eyes with Anders, breath hitching in her throat at the sight of him, soft eyes and swollen lips framed in strands of gold. He was a whimpering mess, but he was beautiful, and safe, and he was _hers_ ; Hawke wanted the world to know. Marian relentlessly bit and sucked at Anders’ skin, fingernails raking across his back, each bruise and scratch mark branding him as her own; she'd watch the Chantry crumble into dust before surrendering him. She was careful enough not to cause too much pain, lest she roused Justice again, but the spirit made no complaint. Anders, on the other hand, seemed encouraged by her display, moaning eagerly every time she reached for his exposed neck, or raked a fingernail across his back.

“Marian. Marian, Marian…” Anders hissed, panting her name like an unholy litany, his breath short as he bit back a broken moan. He was close, Hawke could tell, his straining body tense and slick from sweat. Anders gave a few, erratic thrust before shoving a hand between them, reaching for her clit. The additional stimulation made her snap, heat coiling around her spine as she raced towards her own pleasure. Anders began thrusting into her again, fast, deep thrust that reached the sensitive spot that caused her skin to flush and tingle as fire pooled low in her belly.

“Come for me?” It was a question, and a hesitant one at that, yet Anders’ voice was hoarse and needy and desperate, and it was all it took to send Marian over the edge.

She came hard with a broken, shuddering cry, clenching tightly around Anders’ cock as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Her lover groaned and hissed her name one more time, before quavering against her as he reached his own climax, a string of senseless words escaping his lips. Hawke caught flashes of blue dancing on Anders’ skin as he lost himself to pleasure. Yet Anders hadn’t noticed, and Marian chose not to mention it as they collapsed near each other, too short-breathed to talk.

“What I said about the Templars,” Hawke broke the silence once she’d managed to steady her breath. She held Anders’ hand in her own as she turned to face him, burying her face in his chest. “I meant it. I want you to be safe; here isn’t safe.”

“This place has kept me safe so far.” Anders argued as he pressed himself against Hawke. “Besides, where else would I go?”

“Ah. You do know I own a rather large house, yes? The ratio of space to people is rather disproportionate.” Marian furrowed her brow. “And Dog gets lonely when Mother is not around.”

“And I am sure your mother would love having me there? She must have had better plans for you than the possessed apostate.”

“Mother _married_ an apostate, Anders.” Marian chuckled lightly. “It must run in the family.”

“I am mostly worried about the "possessed _"_ part.” Anders reminded her, scrunching his nose.

“I’d still take Mother over the Templars.” Hawke shrugged. “She is just as scary sometimes, but much less dangerous.” Marian craned her neck to plant a gentle kiss on his lips, which Anders reciprocated with a contented hum. “Look… I’m just making an offer; you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” Her words hung in the air for a few moments as Anders seemed to consider her offer, and Marian realised, as she held her breath, how much she wished he'd agree to it.

“You’d really have me around? All the time? Permanently?” Anders’ voice was laden with doubt, yet the worry lines on his brow smoothed a little as Hawke pulled him in close, hugging him tight.

“Always.” Marian murmured. Anders let out an uncertain breath before silently nodding his agreement. Hawke hummed her approval as sleep slowly claimed her, happily huddled against Anders’ soft, if a little bruised, body. “Always.”


End file.
